


There Are Such Things

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detectives, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Mystery, POV Scott McCall, Romance, Scott-Centric, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door to the office opens, and a figure steps in front of the window that reads “MCCALL & STILINSKI, PRIVATE INVESTIGATION.”<br/>It’s as if Scott’s at the pictures and everything has slowed down to this one moment, the man taking off his hat and flicking the rain out of his hair, as a saxophone croons in the distance, slow and sensual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Such Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Teen Wolf Reverse Bang! ](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Thank you to [mikkimouse](http://mad-madam-m.tumblr.com) for some great ideas, [sourwolfandsarcasm](http://sourwolfandsarcasm.tumblr.com), [metakate](http://metakate.tumblr.com) for reading through and cheering on.
> 
> Huge thanks to my amazing artist, [justcalledkate,](http://justcalledkate.tumblr.com) who prompted "Isaac falls in with some unsavory characters, Scott investigates." The amazing art is this beautiful (modern) comic book cover, and I totally thought "detectives" and immediately wanted to do detective noir, which I've never written before. I went ahead and started writing a modern canon-divergent plot but the detective noir idea just ate at me until I just went and told justcalledkate the idea and they thought it was great.
> 
> ~
> 
> Tag: mentions of child abuse is for Isaac and his father's relationship, brief description of bruises left by physical altercations. 
> 
> ~
> 
> So! I hope you enjoy. I attempted to be period-typical. Almost all the characters smoke and drink casually.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The afternoon is slick with rain, the city is heavy with it, fat drops sliding down the glass windowpanes of Scott’s office. He sighs, “Ah, San Francisco,” rearranges his hat, and sits back down at his desk. It’s been a slow sort of day; they’ve just finished wrapping up a case. Solving the mystery of the stolen Martin diamonds had been a good month’s investigation— they’d never been stolen at all, just heiress Lydia making off with her own dowry and wanting to forge her own life as an inventor, wanting to meet some Tesla fellow in New York. She’d doubled what her parents were paying them to _not_ tell them where she was going, and well, Scott could never resist helping someone in need.

Stiles is still out, having gone to make a deposit at the bank; despite the payout from Lydia, they’re still behind on the rent for the office. Scott drums his fingers on the desk, looking over the empty case logs and the typewriter that hasn’t been used for anything but Stiles’ attempts at puzzling out how to forge one’s own kidnapping notes.

The rain comes down harder, splattering against the building and the sidewalk below them.

The door to the office opens, and a figure steps in front of the window that reads “MCCALL & STILINSKI, PRIVATE INVESTIGATION.”

It’s as if Scott’s at the pictures and everything has slowed down to this one moment, the man taking off his hat and flicking the rain out of his hair, as a saxophone croons in the distance, slow and sensual.

It’s been a long time since Scott was _so_ attracted to a man. He’s had lovers, men and women, been in love, been out of love, had a casual fling here and there, but since his engagement ended he hasn’t really had the heart to pursue anyone.

And yet.

The man’s all cherubic curls and long legs, spilling into the room with a cautious and apprehensive air. He hesitates before the desk, long coat dripping slightly, taking off his damp hat but makes no move to hang up either hat or coat on the coat stand, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to stay or leave.

“Hello there,” Scott says, sitting up and straightening his tie, and then rearranges his position to be more casual, leaning back against the chair. Stiles always said that his enthusiasm made it seem like they were desperate for clients. Well, they were, but the clients don’t need to know that.

“I— you’re— I was told I could come see Stilinski about some help. With. A thing.”

“Well, this is McCall and Stilinski, and Stilinski is out right now, but I’m McCall. Scott McCall. How can I help you?” Scott smiles.

The man steps forward; he’s slight under the coat, and his shirt is several sizes too big, bunching up under his suspenders. “I— my father is missing.”

Scott gets out a fresh notebook, ready to take notes. “Alright, start from the beginning. What’s your name?”

“Isaac Lahey.”

“You can sit down, you know,” Scott says gently.

Isaac takes the seat, holding his hat in front of himself. A damp blond curl droops down onto his forehead, and Scott is momentarily distracted. “Alright,” he says, shaking himself back to reality. He’s got a job to do. “Have you gone to the police?”

Isaac shakes his head.  He’s got a tremor, Scott notices, and a smudge of dirt under his chin. He gets the interview done with fairly quickly— Isaac and his father both work at the local graveyard, and apparently Lahey senior went down to the local bar and never returned last night.

“Sometimes he comes back late…” Isaac trails off. “I was asleep. I didn’t know. And this morning he wasn’t anywhere in the house, and the car was still here, so. ”

There are bags under Isaac’s eyes, and there’s something about the nervous way he won’t look at Scott while he’s talking that makes Scott wonder if there’s more to the case. “Alright, I’ll bring this up with the police, but I can’t guarantee they’ll follow up with a mere missing persons case. They’re kinda swamped right now, with those murders last week—”

“It’s fine,” Isaac says.

They discuss payment, and then Isaac stands up to leave, clutching his hat.

Scott catches him by the elbow. “No rush,” he says. “Rain’s comin’ down awful hard, and you don’t have an umbrella. You’re welcome to stay here for awhile yet. Stiles should be back soon. You two friends?”

Isaac quirks his lips, amused. “Not really.”  He puts his hat back on. “Thank you for the offer, though. I should get back. Rain makes mud, makes graves harder to dig. I’ll see you around, Detective McCall.”

“Scott. Call me Scott.”

Isaac nods, touching the tip of his hat in a mild salute, and walks out of the office, his footsteps slowly fading away into the shadows.

Scott lets out a low whistle once he’s alone. It’s been awhile since a man’s tickled his fancy like this; it’d be a dangerous thing, to linger on the feeling.

He opens his desk drawer and draws out a glass and the whiskey, thinking about the lot he’s drawn, to not only be mixed race but to have this inclination. The latter at least is easy to hide, but the former… not so much. Scott deals, though; he supposes he’s fortunate, to do a job he loves, and that Stiles was willing to open up this business with him.

The door opens and Stiles bursts in like a hurricane, all smiles and delighted energy , sending wet droplets of rain flying everywhere. “Scotty, my man, I am going to make us _rich._ I just won this bet off Whittemore at the pool hall, I figure if I keep this up, even with no cases this month we can definitely make rent. _”_

Scott raises his eyebrow and pulls out another glass, pouring Stiles a drink and sliding it across the desk.

Stiles wrenches himself out of his coat and tosses it in the general direction of the coat stand, flinging his hat there to follow.

“Before you launch into another one of your hare-brained schemes, my friend, just letting you know we have a new client. Someone who was referred by you, actually. Isaac Lahey?”

Stiles gulps down the whiskey. “Ah, went to school with him. Bumped into him awhile back and told him about the business, didn’t know he’d actually take me up on it one day. He give us a case?”

Scott lays it out.

“Funny. My dad told me he had to break up a fight the other day between Lahey and some of Argent’s goons. I think they’re definitely involved.”

“I don’t think Isaac was telling the complete truth,” Scott says. “It didn’t look like he’d had a restful night’s sleep, but he said he didn’t know whether his father came in or not. And he came to our office first, instead of the police.”

“Mmm, well, he must know that we’d get the job done!” Stiles says, winking at him.

“Argent goons, you said,” Scott muses. “Must be why he didn’t want the law involved.”

Stiles takes Scott’s glass, downing his drink as well. “Mob runs this city anyway. You know Argent’s got eyes and ears all over the force. Can’t do a thing about it.”

Scott looks over his notes, thinking about the case, where Isaac’s dad might be, and gets distracted again, thinking about Isaac, the shifting blue of his eyes when he met Scott’s gaze for a singular moment.

“You went to school with Isaac? You think he might…” Scott trails off. He shouldn’t be interested, anyways. The chances are slim to none that Isaac would be interested back; and besides, he’s a client.

Stiles understands his train of thought immediately, winking at Scott. “The job first,” he says, pouring more whiskey into each of their glasses.

“To the job,” Scott says, clinking their glasses together.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing to do is investigate the client, see if their story checks out. Scott has Stiles’ sparse information from his school days— the Headington School for Boys, an inexpensive secondary school run by the state. Isaac was neither memorable nor particularly spectacular in any subject; Stiles only remembers him because they had both been in athletics together, and were miserable at it. Stiles also recalled Isaac had missed a lot of school, but he supposed that was because it was only he and his father down at the graveyard, and sometimes he had to help with work.

The next thing is to see what Lahey was fighting with Argent’s men about. It’s not easy to talk to the mob, but once upon a time, Scott was practically family. Well, before.

The taxi drops him off with a salute, and the air is excited with the the chatter of people excited about their night on the town. Scott makes his way through dapper suits and shining dresses, nodding to the music. Derek’s outdone himself tonight, really— the band is hitting all the sixes, instruments shining in the spotlight, playing a snazzy tune. The dance floor is filled with people already, jims and janes twirling around, looking to hold someone close.

Scott spots the joint’s owner at the top of the stairs as he approaches the bar, and Derek nods at him. The man’s looming as usual, standing there watching the revelry from upstairs, silently observing. He does wave at Boyd, the barkeep, who sends Scott over a single malt.

Scott raises the glass to Derek, who waves back at him and continues to watch over his domain.

_Hale’s_ is the classiest joint in town, if you’re one for a dance, and there are lots of alcoves and shadows if you’re the kind of cat looking for a late night rendezvous. And it’s filled with all sorts, a few of them quite dangerous indeed. Scott can count five armed men already. Not that fact is alarming, really; everyone owns a gun nowadays.

He takes a sip of his drink, listening to the music come to a loud and spectacular conclusion.

“And now, for your listening pleasure— Miss— Ally- AAAAAAAAY!”

The curtain parts, and she walks onto the stage, all glimmering jewels and in a floor length satin blue dress, looking every bit as lovely as the first time Scott saw her.

All the lights dim except for the one falling on her, and then she opens her mouth and begins to sing.

A hush descends upon the audience, and couple start to form on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the music as if under a spell.

Scott grins, watching proudly, the smoothness of his whiskey hardly comparable to the notes coming from the stage.

He listens for three songs, and then Ally A steps off the stage, and the band comes back on.

Scott turns back to the bar, idly listening to the chatter. Not much of interest, other than the usual trouble at the docks, someone lost a shop to the Argents, poor place in flames.

It’s a shame, but the mob runs this town, and the police and everyone else can’t do a thing about it. Best to keep your nose clean and try and make your own way without causing trouble. It sounded like Lahey didn’t though, and Scott wants to find out what he was involved in.

“Well, Scott McCall, thought my eyes were deceiving me.”

Scott turns around and takes off his hat, smiling graciously. “Allison. As radiant as ever.” She’s put on an extravagant fur coat over her sparkling dress, but it does little to mute her beauty.

He kisses her hand and offers her a seat.

Allison smiles at him, and Boyd brings her a drink. She sips it neatly, turning to regard Scott with a curious expression.

“You sounded amazing,” Scott says. “I’m happy for you. You’re gonna be a huge star.”

Allison shrugs, but she looks pleased nonetheless.

“Why are you here, Scott? I haven’t seen you in quite some time. Why, the last I saw you was near six months ago, when I was almost Mrs. Scott McCall.”

The memory of their broken engagement still hurts, but Allison— Allison deserves better than to be married off to a lowlife like Scott. Her family is going to marry her off to someone rich and powerful, who will shower her in gifts and every luxury imaginable. And Scott.. Scott is going to keep working at his little detective agency, living with Stiles in their apartment that leaks in the rain, confirmed bachelors forever. He’d loved her, and wanted to, but they both knew Scott had nothing else to offer but his love, and Allison’s marriage could broker tentative peace between any of the rival mob families. It could mean peace for the city.

“Word on the street was that you were singing at Hale’s now, I just had to see it for myself,” Scott says. It’s mostly the truth— he had been looking for Allison, but she hadn’t been singing in any of the Argent-owned joints in town, and asking around everyone had pointed him to Hale’s. Unusual, for the boss’s daughter to be headlining at their rival’s nightclub.

“Ah, well, just getting used to the digs,” Allison says. “Have you met my fiancé?”

Scott swallows his drink. He didn’t know the Argents would go ahead and get her engaged so fast, and he briefly wonders if it was Allison’s doing, but then he sees the man stepping up behind her, the taut uncomfortable line of his jaw.

“Derek. Of course,” Scott says, getting off his seat to shake his hand. “Congratulations for you both.”

Derek returns the gesture and then steps back to places an arm around Allison’s shoulders stiffly. Allison looks equally uncomfortable, and she smiles at Derek coolly, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. They look beautiful together, like two classical works of art, but Scott can see how Derek tenses up with the touch.

“I have to get ready for my next set,” Allison says lightly. “Scott, it was good seeing you.”

“Ally— can I talk to you, after?”

Allison nods, softening at the sound of her old nickname coming out of Scott’s lips.

She heads backstage, leaving Scott and Derek at the bar.

“I’ve got a better vintage upstairs, if you want a refill,” Derek says.

“Sure thing.” Scott follows him into the private quarters and offices where the noise of the club is but a pleasant muffled din behind closed doors.

Derek pours them both a drink before sinking into his leather couch, staring at the swirling amber liquid but not drinking it.

Scott waits, watching his old friend. They’ve known each other for years, ever since Scott came back to San Francisco. Derek got him one of his jobs at the docks, helped keep him out of some of the more dirty lines of business that his family dealt with. Guns, drugs, money laundering— the city’s mobs are teeming with it, everyone clamoring for a piece of the pie, and the Hales and the Argents at the top.

“You know that Allison— and I— we aren’t—” Derek makes a vague gesture.

Scott nods. “I figured. Family arranged it, on both sides?”

Derek finally takes a sip of his drink and sets it down on the table.  “It was going to be Kate, but well—”

Scott remembers all too well. She’d been wild, even for an Argent, taking their trademark burn-the-competition to a literal level, and even was so far on the wrong side of the law she’d actually gone and gotten herself arrested.

“I understand.”

“I know the two of you were— um— I’m sorry—”

Scott shrugs. “Nothing could be helped.”

Derek scowls. “We’re not, so you know, it’ll be a marriage in name only—”

Scott bites back a laugh at how determined Derek is with this statement. He steps forward and claps him on the shoulder. “It sure sounds like I’m not the one you want to be telling that to.”

Derek buries his face in his hands.

“He won’t even talk to me.”

Scott pats him comfortingly, thinking this probably explains a lot about what he’s observed over the last week. “Maybe a letter?”

“Yeah— that’s a good idea— could you give it to him?”

Scott sighs. “This once, Derek. But I’m not getting in the middle of this, you two should really just… figure this out.”

Derek nods, getting up to go to his desk and pulls out a fountain pen and paper, lost in concentration.

Scott thinks about the case. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Laheys?”

“Eh, old man, works the graveyard?”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “He has a son, too. My age. Curly blonde hair.”

“Boyd knows that one, I think. Seen him around the bar a few times.” Derek looks up from his paper. “Do you think… constellation is too much?”

“Thanks, and yes. It’s too much, he hates those moles, don’t talk about them. And are you waxing poetic or something? Just explain your arranged marriage thing!”

Derek points the pen at him. “Don’t tell me how to write my love letters.”

“I don’t have to deliver your love letter if it’s ten pages long about his damn moles!” Scott throws up his hands in frustration.

Derek looks down at his page and crosses a few things out furiously.

“Why are you asking about Lahey?”

“He’s missing. I’m working a case for his son. Last I heard Lahey was fighting some of Argent’s, thought I’d see if Allison knew anything.”

“She might. She just talked to Gerard yesterday, so it’s likely.” Derek scrunches his nose at the page. “Do you think… amber or whiskey, for his eyes?”

_“Brown,_ Derek. His eyes are brown.” Scott rolls his own eyes and decides he might as well see if Allison is done with her set while Derek’s composing his letter.

He slips in backstage and finds her dressing room easily. She’s inside, powdering her nose.

“Scott,” Allison greets him with a smile. “So you’re working a case after all? Didn’t come just looking for me?”

“Ally, you know I— you told me you wanted space, it hurt too much to see me,” Scott says. “After— and then— then I needed room too—”

“I know,” Allison says gently. “Is there someone special in your life? I want you to be happy, you know.”

Scott shrugs.

“Hm. Alright. Well, what did you want to know?”

“Derek told me you talked to your father recently. You hear anything about the business… about a Lahey?”

“He might have come up. Gravedigger, wasn’t it? He took out some loans from my father so he could start some sort of actual funeral parlor, sell coffins and the like, but couldn’t pay up. Got mouthy at some of the enforcers, but the money was coming in fine.”

“Wait, so if Lahey wasn’t paying, who was?” Scott frowns. This doesn’t make sense for a possible kidnapping, or what he suspected— Lahey getting too beat up to make it home that night.

“His son, of course. They took the loan out together.” Allison raises her eyebrows at him.

~

It’s fairly easy to put a tail on Isaac; but he doesn’t seem to do much that’s suspicious. He works in the graveyard, preparing a grave, then goes for a walk along the city, and then to Hale’s, where he talks with Boyd at the bar and has one drink, then back home.

Scott follows him for three days before he finds anything interesting.

Isaac’s out digging, his third grave this week. Pretty high death count for this neighborhood. Scott does a few deductions, thinking of the number of graveyards in the area and whether three is reasonable. Maybe? There were the two murder vics from a few days ago, but he’s not sure.

Scott surreptitiously ducks into the cramped office, flicking through paperwork until he finds the schedule.

“Jones… Allbright… “ Scott reads aloud. Two graves this week.

Then who is the third grave for?

 

* * *

 

“Let’s wake up in the middle of the night and find a body,” Stiles mutters darkly, hefting the shovel over his shoulders.

“Aren’t you curious?” Scott demands.

“Yes. Also no. But yes.”

Scott shushes him when they get to the graveyard; the headstones leave ominous shadows cast by the moonlight, and Scott shivers a little. This is wrong. But they need to know.

Stiles jabs Scott with his elbow, making an eerie howling noise.

“Cut that out,” Scott whispers back. “His house is right there. You want to get caught?”

Stiles makes a face at him, and Scott forgets they’re both adults for a moment, pushing and shoving at each other playfully as if they were children again.

They find two empty graves with labeled headstones not yet placed in the ground, waiting for a funeral. Jones and Allbright, matching the records Scott had found.

Then in the corner is a plot with freshly turned dirt, no indicator for awaiting a funeral or a new body or instructions… just dirt.

Stiles nods at him and they both begin to dig.

It’s arduous work, in the middle of the night, and klunks of dirt flying everywhere.

“Still can’t believe you, you said you wouldn’t interfere,” Stiles mutters when they’ve gotten ankle deep.

“I didn’t interfere! He just looked really sad, okay. He’s my friend too.”

“Three pages of apology, Scott,” Stiles hisses at him.

“You didn’t have to read it if you didn’t want to,” Scott says casually. “I did see you burn it. But after you read it.”

“He said he missed the amber whiskey of my eyes,” Stiles says darkly.

“I told him just to say brown.” Scott shakes his head.

Stiles shoves the shovel back into the dirt, poking at it halfheartedly. “Doesn’t make up for the fact that he avoided me for a month and didn’t even tell me about the engagement.” He picks up the shovel again, attacking the dirt with renewed vigor, and Scott has to hop out of the grave to avoid being covered in dirt.

“So you sweet on our client, eh?” Stiles asks.

“What? No. The job, Stiles, I can’t— no, the job.”

Stiles waggles his eyebrows and shakes some dirt at him. “Come on, you were gonna ask me if I knew or not, huh? You think he’s the bee’s knees.”

Scott flushes. “He does the crossword puzzle, every morning. It’s strange and weird. I could never like anyone who did that, okay?”

“Allison used to organize her books not by author or title or genre, but by mood. And you found it endearing. Trust me Scott, you made _the face_ when you talked about him. I know the face.”

“I— did not! I do not have a face, I mean I do have a face, but it’s a normal, human face that has normal human expressions and— damn you!”

Stiles laughs. “Why aren’t you digging this hole with me?”

“Because you were flinging dirt everywhere like a madman. Is it safe now? Can we work together and finish this?”

Stiles nods, and they get back to the task. It isn’t long before Scott’s shovel hits the heavy klunk of something hard, and he and Stiles unearth a rough-hewn pine box. Barely even a casket.

They heave open the lid.

Scott peers down into it. “Well, shit.”

Stiles blinks. “So… we solved the case?”

 

* * *

 

Benjamin Lahey has been dead for approximately three days. He suffered multiple bruising indicative of a fight, and also a blow to the head.

“He was dead before Isaac showed up at our office,” Stiles says. “We have to— we have to tell my dad. Isaac’s a suspect for sure. I’m sorry, Scott. I know you liked him.”

Scott can’t ignore the instinct he has that this doesn’t quite make sense. “They had a loan from one of Argent’s sharks, Stiles. And Lahey wasn’t paying, Isaac was. Where was Isaac getting the money? Why would he kill his father if he was trying to help pay their debts together? I don’t think we have the complete picture. We need to talk to Isaac.”

Scott drops the shovel and heads right for the small house at the edge of the lot.

“Right now?” Stiles hisses, following him.

“I have to know. It’s part of the rules.”

“Rules, what rules, we never wrote them down,” Stiles mutters, but he traipses along and watches with bated breath as Scott raps his fingers on the door.

There’s a soft shuffling noise, and a moment later the door opens. Isaac blinks sleepily and Scott has to remind himself not to find it adorable— Isaac is, quite possibly a liar.

“Scott? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Seem to have solved the case,” Scott says flatly. “Want to clarify a few things with you, though.”

Isaac turns white. “You.. you better come inside.”

 

* * *

 

The story takes three cups of tea and a plate of scones to get through.

“He was hurting me,” Isaac said softly. “I didn’t— I didn’t want to live here with him anymore. I was trying to make enough money to just _go_ , but it’s hard—”

Scott puts a hand softly on Isaac’s shoulder and nods to show he’s listening.

The house is small but well taken care of; not a spot of dust anywhere. There’s a small bed in the corner, and what looks like a trundle cot— for a child— underneath it. Scott wonders if that’s where Isaac still slept as an adult.

Outside the sky is starting to lighten, and Scott’s grateful that Stiles decided to go back outside and re-bury the body after he got a brief satisfactory explanation. Scott still wants to hear the entire thing, though.

“I worked at the docks, at first, but it was difficult, and not enough, and then Ennis—”

Scott knows who Ennis is, knows what he does. “You ran drugs for Deucalion.”

Isaac looks at the floor. “I don’t really— don’t really get wages, working with my father, the money just goes back into maintaining the business, or feeding his liquor habit, and I didn’t think anything of it at first, just the money was good, and after I paid off the debt I was going to have enough to save for myself.” He swallows guiltily. “And then I dropped the package once, and I saw what was inside and realized it was opium, I wanted to stop…” Isaac trails off.

Isaac is still in his sleeping clothes; a thin muslin nainsook that bares his arms. Scott can see the myriad of bruises, some old and fading, some fresher. Isaac notices Scott looking and grabs some clothes from a corner, pulling on a pair of slacks and a shirt.

“I’m used to it,” Isaac says quietly, once he’s fully dressed.

“No one should have to be used to this,” Scott says. He wants to take Isaac’s hand, comfort him, but can’t cross that line. Isaac’s still a client.

Isaac doesn’t meet his eyes. “I hated him. And there’s a part of me that says it’s better that he’s gone. But it wasn’t all that bad, like he was my father, still, and it’s my fault. I— I told Ennis I wanted to stop, but then we couldn’t pay the loan we got from the Argents, and when the collectors came, it was the same time Deucalion’s men came to rough me up—”

Scott shakes his head in dismay. He knows Stiles would have mentioned if there was something in the police report about more people being in the fight, but it only means that Deucalion’s people got away before witnesses saw the aftermath.

“And it came to blows, and I got away but my father was caught in the middle of it, and apparently he had beef with both sides, and then he— he—”

Isaac takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to do. I saw it all happen, and Ennis punched him and his head hit the ground and— he wasn’t moving—  and they just pushed him into the empty grave I dug for Jones earlier that day.” His eyes are glassy and wet, still shocked.  “I figured if I went to the police, they’d just arrest me.”

Scott knows from his days of tailing Isaac and talking to those who knew him that he was often seen fighting with his father, and angry shouting was often heard by the house at the edge of the graveyard. It would be all too easy, especially with a corrupt police force that has pockets lined with Argent money, to just make Isaac the fall guy.

“It’s going to be okay, Isaac. Stiles’ father is one of the few of the police actually out for justice, not just a paycheck. He’ll listen to us, and we’ll get Ennis for murder—”

The door flings open, and Stiles, covered in dirt, is panting. “We gotta go— there are some men with guns heading this way, think they’re some of Gerard’s enforcers—”

Isaac pales. “Probably.”

“They’ve probably been following you as well, know you’ve hired us,” Scott says. “Can’t go back to the office, but we have to hide— let’s go—”

They follow Stiles out of the cottage and head towards Stiles’ old jalopy; the car has seen better days, but it still works. Stiles tosses Scott the keys. “Go, go, go, they already spotted me, I’ll give them a nasty run for it! They have a car, too, but you can lose them in the streets! Take Isaac to the hospital you can lay low there, your mother can—”

Scott nods, jumping in the car.

Isaac gets in, looking worriedly at Stiles and the figures running through the graveyard at them. “What about you?”

“Hale’s is right around the corner,” Scott says.

Stiles makes a face but he starts off running in that direction.

The narrow streets are still fairly empty this early in the morning, but Scott makes it to the hospital in record time. They lose the other car twenty minutes in, but Scott makes sure to double back on his turns, just in case. He leaves the car a block from the hospital, signaling for Isaac to follow him.

“That was good thinking. We can get your injuries checked out as well,” Scott says.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea… what if the doctors go to the police?”

Scott grins. “Don’t worry. My mother wouldn’t do that.”

Luckily there is an empty room Melissa McCall ushers them into immediately, and she takes her time looking over Isaac.

“Looks like a sprained wrist is the worst of it,” she says, after a brief exam. “No internal bleeding in my opinion, but I can get a doctor just to make sure.”

“This is more than enough,” Isaac says gratefully. “Thank you.”

She smiles at them, looks at Isaac and then gives Scott a knowing look.

“Thanks, mother,” Scott says. “We’re just going to hang here until the heat dies down, if that’s alright.”

“Fine with me,” Melissa says. She shuts the door. “I’ve already told the other nurses that this room is highly infectious and I’ve got it covered. Get some rest. Looks like you boys have been up all night.”  

Scott feels like he’s just drifted off to sleep, barely able to get comfortable on the stiff hospital cot; with Isaac is already lightly dozing on the other one, but when the door flings open again the window outside is dark already. They’ve been here the whole day.

Melissa gives them an apologetic look. “Sorry, you have to go, there are men here and they’re going through room by room. They say they’re here with the police, looking for fugitives, but I didn’t see any badges.”

Melissa leads them out the back entrance of the hospital, sending them off with a worried, “Be safe!”

“Could we hide at your office?” Isaac asks.

“No, that’s the first place they’d look. Actually— if they’re not following us, we can just head back to my apartment. Stiles and I are unlisted in the phone directory— we’ll be safe there,” Scott says.

He parks the car across the street from the dilapidated apartment building and takes Isaac upstairs. Scott pushes the key in the lock, hoping Stiles made it safe. He’s probably just been arguing with Derek this whole time.

The door opens to a dark apartment, and Scott gestures for Isaac, and the two of them breathe out a sigh of relief.

Scott casts about, fumbling in the dark until he finds the lamp, turning it on. Light floods the small one-room apartment, and fumbling shadows where Stiles bed is in the corner make Scott realize they’re not alone.

“Scott. Isaac,” Stiles says, surprised. He pushes himself off the bed, bare chested and pulling up his jockey shorts.

“Argent’s men,” Scott says simply. “Followed us from the hospital. I’m sorry. Shoulda— shoulda given you a ring from the hospital before heading back.”

“S’fine,” Stiles says, grabbing a pair of slacks and suspenders off the floor and tossing them at the lump in the sheets behind him.

Scott is expecting it, but Isaac isn’t, so when Derek Hale slowly extricates himself from the sheets, a ruddy blush in his cheeks, Isaac freezes.

Derek nods at Scott, and his face goes a little taut when he sees Isaac standing there, but he takes the slacks, stepping out of the bed and hastily making his way to the bathroom.

“That’s Hale… he’s one of the mayor’s children,” Isaac says, shocked. “Hale is a—”

Stiles crosses the room before Isaac can take another breath, taking Isaac by the shirt. “Don’t you dare—”

Isaac shakes his head. “No, no, I wouldn’t. I was just saying, I didn’t know there were—”

“What?” Stiles asks coldly.

Scott knows that tone, and he reaches forward to pulls his friend back, but then—

“More like me,” Isaac says in a small voice.

Stiles drops the shirt and his entire face softens. He backs away, looking from Scott to Isaac and then at the floor. “I— I’m sorry, thought you were gonna be rude about it.”

Isaac shakes his head quickly.

The silence is broken when Derek emerges from the bathroom, buttoning his shirt. He pads forward, bare feet making the slightest noise on the linoleum.

“I’m Isaac,” Isaac offers, holding out his hand.

“Derek,” is the tert response. The handshake is brief, but not unfriendly. “Seen you around before my nightclub before. Boyd’s friend, isn’t it?”

“Ye— yeah,” Isaac says. “He’s a good man. I owe a lot to him.”

Derek nods. “He told me you didn’t say anything about him and Miss Reyes.” He places a gentle hand on Stiles’ arm, drawing him back. “He’s not gonna say anything, Stiles.”

“Yeah? What about your father coming up for reelection, and it’s gonna come out that you’re a—”

“It won’t,” Derek says, pulling him close.

Isaac looks away, a high flush in his cheeks. Scott’s used to his friends’ displays of affection— God knows they have little enough time and privacy to express themselves, he’s not about to stop them in their own home just when they’ve reconciled.

Instead, he takes Isaac out to the fire escape, pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offers Isaac a smoke.

The man takes the cigarette gratefully, letting Scott lean in close to light it.

They exhale long drags of gray smoke into the night, the tendrils whorling around each other before disappearing into the sky.

“I’ve never known anyone else,” Isaac admits.

“And now you know three of us,” Scott says, inhaling a deep drag.

Isaac turns to him, and all Scott can see are the lights reflected in his eyes, the embers glowing faintly from the cigarette in his mouth. The rest of the street is dark shadows and alleyways, pieces of light falling from windows, people going about their lives.

“You…?”

Scott nods. “I would have told you,  eventually, but you know it’s—” he struggles, trying to find the words. There’s the constant fear that comes with this desire, the fear of being found out, being told he was wrong in the head, or worse, having to leave San Francisco. Scott and Stiles had already left once, but they’re back now, and it was supposed to be for good. Scott doesn’t want to uproot Stiles here from his dad, and especially now as Stiles is lucky enough to have found Derek.

Scott had to be careful with whom he told his secret, because if the wrong person found out, it could mean the end of everything.

“I understand,” Isaac says, meeting Scott’s eye.

In the distance, cars honk. A door opens, and music filters out from the nightclub down the street. Smooth jazz filters into the air, and the sweet sensual crooning of a saxophone rises above the din.

If Scott concentrates, he can hear the sound of sheets rustling from inside the apartment again. He sighs, sitting down on the cold metal of the bottom of the fire escape, letting his legs dangle through the rails. It’ll be at least twenty minutes, he thinks.

Scott considers the darkness of the street, how all the lights on this end are busted. No one can see them, sitting on this lonely fire escape halfway up the building, shrouded in shadow as they were.

He pulls out his flask from his jacket pocket and offers it to Isaac, who sits down next to him.

“Should we go back inside?” Isaac asks after he takes a sip.

Scott shakes his head, chuckling. “Give them some time.”

“Oh— _oh—”_ Isaac’s eyes widen.

Scott laughs again. It feels good, the tension and stress of the day melting off of him in waves. There’s nothing but the velvet darkness of the night, of Isaac sitting next to him, the warmth from his body radiating outward, their shoulders slightly brushing across one another.

They drink in silence for a long while, passing the flask back and forth.

Scott is ignoring the sounds from inside, but he can tell Isaac is paying attention, embarrassed and also curious.

“How does it even… work, with two men? I don’t even know how… I mean, I haven’t even kissed anyone before…” Isaac looks down at the street below sadly. “I don’t leave the graveyard much.”

“Would you like to? Kiss someone?” Scott asks, taking the flask out of Isaac’s hands, letting his fingers linger before he puts the flask back in his pocket.

“I… yes. You— you— want to? Me?” Isaac’s voice trails off, wavering.

Scott nods. He waits for the moment to prolong, for the distance to seem almost surmountable. The air tingles with anticipation, and the kiss seems inevitable, but Scott lingers in the moment right before, before everything changes, and Isaac moves from client to something _more._ They look at each other, the moment stretching out into forever, and _then_ Scott moves forward. A hand is in Isaac’s curls, tugging them back gently, and then his lips are soft and wet on Isaac’s own. Isaac kisses back clumsily but eager, drawing him in closer.

Isaac’s lips are soft and eager, and he lets Scott slowly coax his tongue into his own, and makes a sweet sigh when Scott pulls back. It’s only been a moment but Scott is out of breath already, heart pounding away. He rests his forehead against Isaac’s own and grins, unable to keep the joy he feels inside.

“You do this with all your clients?” Isaac asks.

“You’re the first,” Scott says. “And you can be the last, if you like,” he adds in a whisper.

“I would,” Isaac says with a soft smile, and he leans forward to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

 

Ennis Mickelson is charged with the murder of Benjamin Lahey, as the police force arrived at one of the local watering holes just in time to hear a drunken Ennis lamenting about the loss of his drug mule and his leverage on said mule in one night. He isn’t charged with opium trafficking, that would have been too much to hope for. But it’s a start.

Isaac is looking healthier, a rosy pallor to his cheeks, and extremely dapper today, Scott thinks. A few weeks of living without fear and being on his own has done that. And maybe a flourishing new relationship.

The wedding reception is well underway, the ballroom filled with high society people and mobsters posing as such all dressed to the nines. Everyone looks stunning, especially Isaac. The suit is absolutely fetching on Isaac, tailored perfectly, and the blue silk bowtie at his throat brings out the azure in his eyes.

Stiles jabs him with his elbow. “You’re staring again.”

“I know,” Scott says, grinning. “He’s beautiful. I can’t help it.”

“Hypocrite. You told me to pick up my jaw off the floor when—”

“I’m discreet, Stiles. As you should be as well, especially today.”

“I suppose.” Stiles sighs and picks up another glass of champagne from a waiter, which Scott removes and places back on the tray. He makes a face at Scott. “Really?”

“The last thing we need is for you to drunkenly ask him to dance or something in public and throw off this entire Hale-Argent truce with allegations of—”

“I know, I know. So responsible,” Stiles sighs. “Oh! Is that Miss Lydia Martin I spy?”

Indeed it is, dressed stylishly in a navy sheath dress and emerald jewels at her throat, she catches sight of Scott and Stiles and walks in their direction.

They both greet her with a warm kisses to the cheek.

“My boys,” Lydia says fondly.

“How was New York?” Stiles asks.

“Sexist,” Lydia sighs. “But my research was well received. Nikola was darling and absolutely interesting to talk to, but I realized I’m going to have to publish under a pseudonym. So I’ve returned, to procure a better income for myself so to fund my research. Electricity is frightfully fascinating.”

“You’ve gotten a job?”

Lydia scoffs. “Gotten engaged. You’re looking at the future wife of the railroad tycoon’s son.”

“Not Whittemore!” Stiles scowls. “He’s awful.”

“I’m not marrying him for the companionship, you know. Besides, I don’t think you can hardly speak on this topic. It’s not like my marriage is the only one that will be just for show.” Lydia looks over her glass at Stiles, and then glances over to where Derek and Allison are still greeting well-wishers and congratulators at their table. She winks at Stiles. “So, does he look as good out of those suits as he does in them?”

Stiles splutters. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lydia shrugs. “Derek is very open with Allison about the expectations of their marriage. And I might say Allison… is very open with me.”

Scott blinks and Stiles outright stares. “You… you…” Stiles fumbles.

“Oh, look, I should go give my well wishes! It was good seeing you both!” she saunters off, smirking.

“You don’t think she…”

Scott laughs. “I think she may be.”

The music changes to a quick rhythm, and the couples on the floor break apart for a lively dance.

Scott finds Isaac standing awkwardly by the wall and jerks his head towards the dance floor. “You want to get out of here?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Isaac says.

Outside, a light rain has begun to fall, but it’s only a short walk back into Scott’s neighborhood, and they laugh, speeding up into a jog and trying to avoid the raindrops.

The night is filled with the sounds of music, the faint pitter patter of rain, cars honking in the distance. It’s a grim city at times, but Scott is glad of many things.

Isaac turns and takes his hand, curling his fingers in his, and they continue on into the night.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to check out the artwork [ here! ](http://justcalledkate.tumblr.com/post/126629933322/twrbb2015) and the artist [ here. ](http://justcalledkate.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here.](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com)


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